


Warm glow, mistletoe

by WednesdayGilfillian



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, Holtzbert Secret Santa 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 03:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13227501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WednesdayGilfillian/pseuds/WednesdayGilfillian
Summary: The night before she's due to fly out for Christmas, Erin gets an unexpected invitation from Holtz.





	Warm glow, mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UselessLesbianLaughter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UselessLesbianLaughter/gifts).



> This is my contribution to Holtzbert Secret Santa 2017, for UselessLesbianLaughter - I hope you like it!  
> In case anyone's curious, the prompts were: "50s aesthetics, Christmas songs and Holtzbert baking together"

It was late December, and the firehouse was all aglow. Technically, of course, the firehouse was _always_ aglow – with numerous screens, and the occasional safety light, and all-too-frequent spontaneous combustions. But tonight, the firehouse was aglow in the traditional, festive sense – and Erin had to admit she loved it.

She was almost reluctant to admit just how _much_ she loved it, because…well, because she’d worked so hard to supress it in years past. It wasn’t the done thing to express too much undignified enthusiasm when you were a professor at Columbia… And besides, the whole Norman Rockwell ideal Christmas thing rang a bit hollow when family dinners were a conversational minefield. Tidings of comfort and joy? Not in Erin’s three decades of Christmas experience.

But this year was different. Her family would be the same as always, but everything else had changed – and Erin was starting to think that maybe ‘everything else’ was what mattered. She had purpose; she had ground-breaking research; she had actual, hilarious friends who happened to be her colleagues. This year, she barely had an excuse to be Grinchy.

And so Erin was smiling as the firehouse door swung shut behind her, abruptly cutting off the cold draught from outside. The lights strung up everywhere made her think at once of Holtz, who had of course been instrumental in Operation Deck the Halls – and Erin wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps it wasn’t only Christmas she was warming to.

A convenient distraction was provided by the sight of Abby’s suitcase in the corner. Abby had been packing at home all afternoon, but had promised to stop in to the firehouse before her flight. By the sound of things, she was halfway down the stairs.

“But Holtz, you’ve never voluntarily picked up groceries in your life. Not a single carton of milk.”  
“Yeah, well, you know Abs…Christmas miracle.”  
“Miracle-or-otherwise remains to be seen,” came Patty’s voice, all no-nonsense. “I just wanna know – oh hey, Erin’s back!”  
“Erin! You survived the Christmas rush?”

“Ugh, barely,” Erin grinned over Abby’s shoulder as her oldest friend enveloped her in a hug. (Abby always got extra huggy right before Christmas.)   
“But I ticked every relative off my list.”  
“And your Mom so notoriously picky, too,” Abby shook her head in sympathy. “Man, it’s a real shame we couldn’t have gotten seats on the same flight. Ya know, for old time’s sake.”  
Erin smiled. “I know… But you know what it’s like, booking flights at Christmas…”

Actually, Erin had booked her flights far, far in advance. She’d booked the latest possible flight out of New York, so as to spend the shortest possible time in her childhood home. But Abby didn’t need to know that.

“Oh well. Hey, I better get going.”  
“Me too, actually,” nodded Patty, glancing at her watch. “I promised Aunt Bernice I’d help her with the tree.”   
“Well, I guess this is us till after Christmas,” Abby grinned around her colleagues.   
“Travel safe, all.”  
“Eat _everything_.”   
“Sage advice, Holtzmann. All right, have a good night, girls! Erin, don’t stay up too late stressing? And Holtz, give Erin some room to breathe. She’s kinda pedantic about the right way to wrap a present.”

The others were quickly gone in a bustle of bags and coats, leaving Erin and Holtzmann standing side by side.

“Welp,” grinned Holtz, almost awkwardly, hooking a thumb into the strap of her overalls, “I’ve got some…stuff to do anyway, so I won’t bother ya. Good luck wrappin’ the presents!” And with that, she was off, taking the stairs two at a time.

Erin frowned. That…wasn’t what she had expected. (Not that she’d really been expecting _anything_ , but still…)

Trying not to notice the sudden drop in her high spirits, Erin set to work; laying out all of her purchases, and color-matching gift tags with wrapping paper. She had only got one present wrapped when there was a sudden clatter from the floor above. Erin’s brow furrowed.

Holtz had been odd and evasive, and now there were unexpected noises from above. It would really be _irresponsible_ of her not to just investigate…

The noises, quieter now, were coming from the kitchen. That was…surprising… And also potentially hazardous, given the way she’d once seen Holtz handle a crème brulee torch. Slowly, Erin pushed open the door.

She had never seen Holtzmann move so quickly. She was suddenly leaning casually against the kitchen counter, not-at-all-subtly blocking _something_ from Erin’s view. Her grin was a little manic.

“Heeey…Wasn’t expecting you to be done with your presents already…”  
“Oh, I’m not. I just heard a noise and thought I’d check that you were okay.”  
“Much appreciated. But, as you can see, I’m _fine_.”  
The wink and the flirting were clearly supposed to distract her. It only half-worked.  
“So, there’s nothing half-formed and dangerous hidden behind you?”  
“You wound me, Dr Gilbert. What would I even-”  
It was at this point that a hurriedly-hidden and ill-balanced bag of flour tipped off the counter and onto the floor. It was, in point of fact, one of the smaller messes Holtzmann had ever created.

“Whoops, ha…Where did that come from…?”  
As the flour-flurry settled, a smile twitched the corner of Erin’s mouth.   
“Holtz…Are you _baking_?”  
Holtz went limp, no longer blocking the ingredients from sight.  
“Trying to. I just…it’s kinda rude to bake treats and not share them, right? So I figured I’d wait till you were all outta here. And… _none_ of that is going according to plan.”  
Sighing, Holtz bent to inspect the split flour bag. She seemed…genuinely disappointed.

“Well, this is all easily fixed,” Erin reassured her, crossing the room to retrieve the dustpan and brush. (It was a safe bet that Holtz didn’t know where it was kept, or that it even existed.) She also knew where to find another bag of flour. She chewed her lip for a moment, torn between curiosity and restraint.

“But, can I ask…who are you baking for? If not us, I mean. Which is fine, obviously! Heck, we’re drowning in baked goods already anyway, what with the gifts from-”  
“His name is Archie Whitman.”

Erin blinked. She had been expecting a girl. (Which, on reflection, _may_ have been why she’d barely been able to shut up and let Holtzmann get a word out.) But this?

“W-who’s Archie Whitman?”  
Holtz was regarding her with an unusually serious, appraising eye. Erin felt a little like she was being x-rayed.

“Okay, Gilbert – here’s the deal. You help me bake some actually-edible cookies just as quick as humanly possible, and I tell you about the time I broke into Archie’s museum.”

\--

As soon as Holtzmann had explained it, it ceased to seem even vaguely surprising. Of _course_ twelve-year-old Holtzmann had been at a loose end, killing time in December by scoping out whatever NYC locales might conceivably be haunted. (Or be cozy and full of interesting stuff.)

Of _course_ she had stumbled on a special museum, run by an old man whose collection was as eclectic as her own thrift store wardrobe. Of course she’d wanted to stay there longer, among the odds and ends that had all found a place, and were now cared for by a benevolent benefactor. (This was a good few years before she’d met Dr Gorin.)

Of course she’d broken in at 1AM because the place was probably haunted. And also there she felt warm and safe, and her brain went quiet.

Archie Whitman had found her half-asleep in an authentic naval officer’s hammock, idly solving-and-unsolving the Turkish puzzle ring that had eluded him for years. When he’d stopped laughing, he’d invited her to his annual Christmas party.

“And I’ve gone every year since. There’s a theme each year, usually a decade or historical era. Last year was…Dickensian England.”  
Erin had a sudden image of Holtz in a Victorian-era waistcoat and cravat, and quickly busied herself cutting more tree-shaped cookies.  
“So you…you dress up?”  
“Hell yeah. That’s half the fun. The other half is the food. Also the company. Three excellent halves.”  
Erin rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of herself.  “And what’s the theme this year?”  
“A 50s Christmas. Archie’s a big fan of the old Judy Garland specials.”  
Holtz brushed a curl from her face with the back of a flour-dusted hand - and Erin bit her lip to keep from alerting her to the trace it left.

“So, what are you wearing?”  
Holtz’s eyes snapped up from the tray of cookies, and Erin felt a blush start somewhere deep and quickly surface. Holtzmann’s smirk was positively delighted.

“Not like _that_. And anyway I can see you, so as a line that doesn’t even make sense…”  
She hated to sound so flustered. (Not that that was unusual, around Holtz.)  
“To sate your curiosity, Gilbert…I’m thinking some kind of shirt-and-waistcoat combo. Depends on what I can pull together, really. Archie goes easy on me with historical accuracy.”

Erin breathed a laugh, dusting off her hands and inwardly pulling herself together.  
“Right, well, let’s get those in the oven and get you on your way.”  
She could feel Holtz’s eyes on her as she closed the oven door and set the timer. When she couldn’t put off turning around any longer, she found the engineer eyeing her thoughtfully.  
“You don’t fly out to Michigan till tomorrow morning, do ya?”  
“No, not till around 9.”  
“So, you’re free tonight…?”  
“More or less. Once I’ve wrapped my presents.”  
“Of course, of course. Sooo…if you wrapped your presents while I kept an eye on these,” Holtz gestured to the oven, “you might be able to join me tonight, at Archie’s? He’s been badgering me for years to bring a guest.”

Erin _tried_ not to feel the swoop in her stomach. It was such an overreaction, to what was just a casual, friendly request.

“Oh, well, yes, that’d be…very nice. Thank you.”  
Holtz beamed.

\--

It was ridiculous; Erin hadn’t been this nervous before her last actual _date_. (To be fair, her last date hadn’t required an element of historical dress-up.) It hadn’t actually been too hard to pull together an outfit that looked close-to-appropriate for “a 50s Christmas”; Erin’s wardrobe was not short on cardigans, and she had a couple of vaguely-vintage-looking A-line dresses. And _if_ her most festive-looking dress was also her most flattering, cinched with a belt at the waist and the fabric a cranberry-red…well, that was just good luck. It was an honour to be invited into a part of Holtz’s past this way, so it was only natural that Erin should want to look her best. (Right?)

She was just touching up her makeup in the firehouse’s bathroom when Holtz rapped on the door.   
“The cookies turned out fine! You nearly ready in there?”  
“I think so…”

She opened the door to find Holtz standing closer than expected. And looking…well, ‘dapper’ hardly did it justice. Erin swallowed, blinking rapidly.

It was a moment before Erin realized she wasn’t the only one staring. Holtz’s eyes had gone a little wide, and this time Erin couldn’t deny the swoop in her stomach.

She gestured awkwardly down at her vintage ensemble.  
“Judy Garland enough, do you think?”  
Holtz nodded. “Uh. Uhuh.”  
“Good. Well, um, shall we…?”

\--

Archie Whitman’s home was exactly the museum-piece Holtzmann had described, and while decked out for the holidays it was even more impressive. And Archie himself was just utterly charming, the archetypal tweedy old man, but without any condescension or bluster.

“Ahh, Ms.  _Holtzmann_! Very dapper, I must say! The cut of that waistcoat _is_ definitely post-1950, but I can see that the thought was there. And you’ve brought a guest?”  
Holtz was grinning broadly.  
“Archie, this is Dr Erin Gilbert.”  
“ _Enchanté_. And you’ve come so nicely dressed too. That’s a divine color on you, if I may say. Now, come and have a glass of something, won’t you?”

It wasn’t like any party Erin had ever been to. For one thing, she never had to edge her way into a conversation; Holtzmann was always introducing her to people, and whispering explanations of any personal jokes. And everyone seemed genuinely glad to meet her. Even more obviously, they all seemed very glad to see Holtzmann. Erin could hardly blame them; Holtz really came into her own at this annual party, with a ragtag group she’d obviously known for years. She was relaxed, and merry, and dangerously charming.

“Is that a new player-piano I spy, Archie?”  
“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask! I snapped that up in Brooklyn for a _very_ reasonable price. I don’t suppose someone would like to give it a try?”  
Holtz moved so fast she nearly slid right off the piano stool upon landing.

Archie and Erin stood back, watching in amusement as Holtz got the hang of pedalling. Before too long, the tune of _Jingle Bell Rock_ was coming out at the right tempo, and the keys were moving as though played by a musically-talented ghost. Holtz grinned over her shoulder.

“Look Erin! No hands!”  
“That is kind of the _point_ , Holtz…”

Three songs in, Holtz collapsed off the chair and insisted that someone else take a turn.   
(“Hoo, that’s a workout! My _calves_ …”)   
Archie’s librarian friend was more than happy to man the player-piano, and they pulled out more rolls of music; all Christmas classics of the post-war years.

Erin had just put down her glass of mulled wine, feeling that perhaps she’d had enough, when Holtz grabbed both her hands and pulled her away from the table.  
“Dance with me, Dr?”  
“Uh, I don’t really-”  
Suddenly Erin could have done with another few glasses of wine. Or maybe not, given the way her face was heating up.

It turned out Holtz didn’t really dance either – unless goofily waving their joined arms around counted as dancing. Which, according to Archie, it apparently did not.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t stand here and watch that. Ms. Holtzmann - watch and learn.”  
Businesslike, he took Erin by the waist and took her other hand, and walked them through a few more-formal steps.   
“Now, try again.”

Shaking her head in amusement, Holtz took his place, her hand settling warm at Erin’s waist. Erin only hoped she wasn’t blushing – a hope that began to seem futile as Holtz’s thumb innocently brushed her other hand. The steps they managed were not quite elegant, but Erin really couldn’t have cared less.

“How am I doing, Archie?”  
The old man was watching them with a smile, his arms folded.  
“Better.”

 _It’s a marshmallow world in the winter_  
Take a walk with your favorite girl  
It’s a sugar date, what if spring is late?  
In winter it’s a marshmallow world!

The evening slowly wound down, when no one could manage any more mulled wine or eggnog. (Holtz helpfully polished off the last of the Russian fudge.)

“Well, Archie old man…Erin’s got an early flight in the morning, so I think we’d better be going. Thanks, as always, for an excellent night.”  
“Thank you joining us. And it was so wonderful to meet you, Dr. Gilbert! I do hope we’ll see you again next year.”  
Erin could only smile, and hope that next year Holtz might invite her again. She’d accept in a heartbeat. Tonight, she’d go anywhere if Holtz asked her.  
“Thank you, that would lovely.”

As they were leaving, Archie called Holtz back for the plate they’d brought their cookies on – and Erin saw him whisper something in her ear. Holtz actually _blushed_ , and nodded what looked like thanks.

When they stepped outside and the cold air hit them, Erin suddenly felt the mulled wine go to her head. Between that and the way the street was freshly blanketed in snow, Erin knew her sensible, buttoned-up self was done for. There was only foolish-romantic-Erin left.

“God, it’s freezing! Duck under here while we button our coats.”  
Holtz pulled her back under the arch door of the old building, her breath coming in clouds as she grinned down the half-lit street. She fumbled a little with tucking in her scarf, and Erin’s fingers itched to fix it.  
“Here,” she sighed, stepping closer to right the thick coat-collar.  
“Huh, thanks,” Holtz grinned. In snow and streetlight, dressed like that, she looked…impossibly perfect.

“So…glad you came?”  
“Of course! Thanks for inviting me.”  
“Thanks for saving the cookies.”  
“Well, I was also what first endangered them, but sure.”

Holtz laughed, and breathed out again, glancing up at the architecture above them.  
“It’s a grand old building, this one. Can’t believe we haven’t been called out here in our busting capacity yet. There’s _got_ to be some ghosts hangin’ round.”  
“The Ghost of Christmas Past?”  
Holtz raised a brow.  
“I can’t believe you went there.”  
“Sorry, I’m hopeless. And maybe a little bit drunk.”  
Holtz laughed softly again, eyeing her from where she stood leaning against a pillar.   
“You look alright to me.”

It was spoken so softly, it made something in Erin’s stomach flutter. She wasn’t sure she could handle much more of this.

“Thanks. Just one question, Holtz… How long are we gonna stand under this mistletoe?”

Holtzmann’s eyes went wide. Her mouth opened and closed and opened again, but she seemed to have been caught utterly speechless. She had really thought Erin hadn’t noticed where they were standing, and the way they had found an excuse to linger.

 “Uh…well… The _plan_ was, until I was really sure I should do something about it…?”  
The veiled terror, the vulnerability there touched Erin’s heart. When she replied, she kept her own voice as steady as was possible.  
“Ah. Well, perhaps I can help with that.”  
Hope and disbelief mingled in Holtz’s expression as Erin moved slowly closer, and then her eyes dropped to Erin’s mouth.   
“Erin, I…”  
But words were no longer necessary.

Erin gasped against her lips when Holtz finally kissed her. She couldn’t quite help it; she’d been wanting that kiss for longer than she’d realized. And Holtz tasted of Russian fudge.

“Merry Christmas, Holtz.”  
“Merry Christmas…”

The other woman’s voice came out low and raspy, and Erin wanted to hear more of it. She wanted a lot of things...and for once she was letting herself admit that. She smiled, smoothing her hands down the lapels of Holtz’s jacket.

“Walk me home?”  
Halfway down the street, in the snow-crunch city-silence, Holtz began to hum _._


End file.
